


bring the drugs baby i can bring the pain

by flaneuse



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, References to Drug Use, almost prostitution???, idk man this does not have a happy beginning, sex for drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:40:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaneuse/pseuds/flaneuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is not okay, has never been okay, and Enjolras finds out just how blind he's been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bring the drugs baby i can bring the pain

It's not a good night, to say the least. Grantaire can't even remember what set him off this time, what triggered him, but there's an emptiness eating away at him and he needs to fill it, drown it with something, make him blissful and ignorant. He wants to float away and forget a world that constantly rejects him, tells him he isn't good enough, he isn't worth anything, he's better off dead. He doesn't want to remember a particular disdainful gaze, and worse than that, a _disappointed_ gaze, a gaze that makes him feel more worthless than everyone else combined- his parents, society, the galleries that reject his art.

It's sad, actually, how Grantaire's entire world can be traced back to one person, who person who can raise him up or tear him down with just one word, without even trying.

But right now Grantaire doesn't want to think about that. His veins are itching in the crooks of his arms, desperate for something, anything to burn out the fact that he still cares. Grantaire isn't exactly a drug addict- more of a casual user, when things get so bad that not even alcohol is enough to dull the perpetual ache. But that happens often enough that he knows what do to and how, and where to go to get it.

Grantaire could pay for it if he really wanted to. He's not poor, he makes enough money at his shitty gallery job to keep him in booze, to procure the occasional gram of cocaine, or maybe if he's so far gone he feels like he's being torn apart form the inside out, something stronger. But he doesn't want to pay for it tonight. Not with money anyway.

He goes to a bar he knows, so far downtown that even the bravest of hipsters haven't tried to gentrify it yet, one that Courfeyrac knows he goes to on occasion, one that Courfeyrac really wishes he _didn't_ go to on occasion. Grantaire wonders how much Courfeyrac will let him get away with. He and Courf have an arrangement, of sorts. They used to fuck on occasion, when Grantaire couldn't deal and Courf was a warm body, a willing receptacle for all of Grantaire's emotional shit. He never minded that Grantaire cried more often than not when he came, that if a name ever tore out of Grantaire's mouth it wouldn't be Courfeyrac's. But Grantaire was poison, knew it, and eventually he refused to bring Courfeyrac down to his level anymore, put a stop to it, decided to fulfill his vices elsewhere. Courfeyrac has kept his mouth shut about it so far, but Grantaire pushes his limits every single day, and he isn't sure how long that will last.

The bar is smoky and dark, and Grantaire slides onto a dubiously sticky barstool and taps his hand on the bar to get the barkeep's attention. The barkeep, a burly man, takes one look at Grantaire and slides a glass of something amber over. Grantaire downs it without a second thought and it's only the years of practice that stop him from coughing it back up as it burns it's way down his throat.

He's not here to drink, not tonight.

He forces himself to relax; look somewhat inviting, somewhat approachable. It doesn't take long; people here tend to come for a specific reason, and Grantaire's type is easily recognizable. A man comes to stand in front of Grantaire, flashes him a baggie filled with what Grantaire thinks is a white powder. He's not picky. He just wants everything to go _away_. Grantaire nods and gets up to follow him, grabbing a few napkins from the bar and slipping them into his back pocket. He knows what's coming next.

He follows the man- he's nondescript, and names are neither asked not offered- into the dark, dirty, and cold alleyway outside. The lighting in the bar was shitty enough and it's even darker outside, so Grantaire can almost pretend that the man's tawny hair is blonde, his murky eyes are blue, and his lips, almost bloodless, are red and waiting.

Before he knows what's happening, the brick wall is digging into Grantaire's back almost painfully. Grantaire wants the drugs first though, has been fucked and left wanting before, so the man reluctantly presses the baggie into his palm, and Grantaire shoves it into his pocket.

The man then wastes no time in turning Grantaire around and bending him over, Grantaire shoving at his jeans so that they fall down around his knees. He's exposed and he doesn't care, knows he should, knows this is wrong, but he can't bring himself to give a shit. Grantaire feels spit-slicked fingers pressing past the cleft of his ass, and the worst part is that Grantaire is so desperate, so far gone, that in his haze, this pathetic fantasy where Enjolras loves him, or even wants him, is that he _wants_ it. 

He would have laved his tongue around those fingers, though god knows where they've been, guided the hand down his side, around his hips and to his hole, already clenching in anticipation. But that isn't what this is. This is a quick, dirty fuck. It's not even a drunken one. It's for _drugs_. He's whoring himself out, and he needs it, because at least someone wants him, someone will take his cock in hand and give him the pleasure he would gladly beg for.

The fingers are gone too quickly and this will hurt, but the man turns him around so Grantaire is facing him, and that's almost worse, because this isn't Enjolras, and Grantaire doesn't want to be confronted with that. But it's a little easier on his dignity (though he scoffs at the thought of having any dignity anymore) and he hitches a leg up around the man's waist. He still doesn't know his name, but he knows what his cock is going to feel like in his ass, and that's enough.

Grantaire lets himself be manhandled into position, and he spreads his legs a little wider, shamelessly, letting out a pathetic keening noise when the man bluntly shoves his cock into Grantaire. He had known it was going to hurt, and it does. But it's a good hurt, a burn that is fucked into pleasure in no time. Thank fuck this guy has a condom, because Grantaire is already fucking someone in a back alley for dubious-looking drugs, he doesn't want an STD too.

His shirt rides up around his ribs at the man mercilessly pounds into him, and he lets his head fall back and crack against the brick wall, and closes his eyes. This is what he wants. He can pretend like this, pretend Enjolras is fucking into him with a single-minded intensity, as Grantaire has imagined time and time again.

His moans are loud and he makes no attempt to quiet them. Maybe the man thinks he's putting on a show, like a good little whore, giving him all the drugs were worth, though it can't be much. But Grantaire is not lying to the man, he's lying to himself, and he scrabbles against the wall for leverage and he's sure his fingertips are bleeding a little bit but it doesn't bother him.

He wishes, though, that he could shut his ears as well as his eyes. He can't imagine Enjolras making the unintelligent grunts that are coming from this man. No, Enjolras's throat only makes music.

The sound fills his ears, not the sounds that Enjolras might make but the sound that the man is making, and he can't shut it out and whatever pleasure he had from this is gone now. With every thrust, with every grunt, Grantaire clenches his eyes shut tighter, withdraws a little further into himself, feels shame he wasn't sure he was capable of anymore, but still, he doesn't stop. Instead, he cants his hips forward, and maybe he's punishing himself, or maybe he's punishing Enjolras, in his own sick and twisted way, because Enjolras will see how broken and damaged Grantaire is and know that it is his fault.

He will see Grantaire's ruin, and hold himself accountable.

He's close, so close but the man is even closer, and he presses forward, pinning Grantaire to the wall and Grantaire is getting claustrophobic and he can't breathe anymore, but the man does not stop, snaps his hips faster and faster until he comes inside Grantaire, breathing heavily into his neck.

Grantaire sobs, a little bit, and the man pretends not to hear it.

Grantaire slides down the wall when the man pulls out, and the condom is tossed aside gracelessly. Grantaire's eyes are on the ground and he doesn't look up as the man buckles his belt and walks away, without so much as a goodbye.

Grantaire still hasn't come.

He almost doesn't want to, wants to get on his knees and retch until all traces of this man are gone and he is pure and empty again. But purity stopped being possible for Grantaire a long time ago, so he reaches down and takes himself in hand.

He's all alone in this disgusting alleyway, and there's damp cardboard underneath him, a dumpster to his right, and with every pull of his wrist, with every breath Grantaire takes in or lets out, there is a hitch in his throat.

But he doesn't stop, doesn't stop until he's sobbing through his orgasm and there's come splattered on his hands and on the cement before him. He feels worse than he ever has before, and for what? For something that will hardly make him forget the twist in his stomach when Enjolras is near, the heady scent that fills his nostrils and seeps into his lungs and his brain and his skin.

He cleans himself up as best he can with the napkins that he'd had the foresight to bring with him, and tucks himself back into his pants, zipping them up so he's no longer indecent. But he makes no move to leave the alleyway. Instead he takes the packet from his pocket and considers it for a moment, then opens it and upends it on the ground before him.

He doesn't know how long he sits there, tears and snot dried on his face, making his skin feel tight and itchy. His head is pounding and his ass is sore, and not in the good, fucked-out way.

He just feels- nothing. He doesn't feel anything.

Eventually, however, the door to the alleyway opens and Grantaire whips his head around, expecting to see a worker telling him to get the hell out.

It isn't.

It's exactly the person Grantaire wants to see most, and doesn't want to see at all. Maybe it's the light from the bar behind him, or maybe it's just because its _Enjolras_ and Grantaire has never been able to look at him with eyes wide open, because it's always been like looking into the sun, but he shuts his eyes and turns away.

He hears Enjolras make a pained noise, and he resolves not to look at him, because above all, he will not see pity in Enjolras's eyes. Above all, pity is too much.

Enjolras walks over and kneels before him, or at least Grantaire assumes so by the crunch of broken glass underneath his feet.

"How did you find me?" he asks, because he doesn't want Enjolras to ask what's wrong, or if he's okay.

It takes a few tries for more than air to pass through Enjolras's throat. "Courfeyrac told me you were coming here. He said," and here Enjolras hesitates. "He said you were in a bad way."

Grantaire cannot stop himself: he laughs, even though it hurts.

His eyes snap open and he looks at Enjolras fiercely for a moment before turning away again. "I am as I've always been, Enjolras. It's not my fault if you've never seen it."

Hands, warm and strong and impossibly gentle, come up to catch Grantaire's chin.

"I don't know what to say," Enjolras admits, and Grantaire takes a tiny amount of pride in leaving him speechless.

But only a tiny amount, and then he is back to feeling nothing. No, that's not true. He's never been able to feel nothing when Enjolras is near him, and it's what scares him most of all.

"Please go," he begs, and hates himself for the way his voice cracks. "I can't-"

"Can't what?" Enjolras asks, and his voice is quiet but he is urgent nonetheless. His hands are still on Grantaire's face, and now they force him to look at him.

"I can't have you here anymore." Grantaire says, and the words are out and the air is silent around them and Grantaire wishes he could take them back.

But he doesn't. He keeps going. "I'm nothing, Enjolras, or I wish I was, and I can't have you trying to turn me into something. I have just a little bit left, and as long as you're around, it will always be there. and I don't want it, I don't want to be anything anymore. It hurts too much," he chokes out the last words.

Enjolras lets go of Grantaire's face and Grantaire slumps forward. He hears Enjolras get up and he begins to sob in earnest. It hurts now but it will hurt less later, he promises himself.

"No," Enjolras says fiercely, and Grantaire is startled enough that he stops.

"Excuse me?" He lets out a hiccup, and looks up at Enjolras, who is pacing up and down the alleyway in front of Grantaire.

"No." Enjolras says, and it sounds like a decision, but Grantaire isn't sure what the options were.

"I don't- I want-" Enjolras comes to a stop and tugs at his hair, and suddenly he looks young and vulnerable and Grantaire aches to reach out and touch him, but this must be done. He must stop this so that he can leave, so that he can continue destroying himself in peace.

"What, Enjolras?" Grantaire asks, and he wants it to come out assertive but to his own ears he just sounds plaintive, broken. "What could you possibly want from me?"

"Look at me," and Enjolras does but Grantaire can tell he isn't really seeing him. "No," he says more forcefully. "Look at me. I am sitting on the ground, in an alleyway, because I just _fucked someone for drugs_." Enjolras flinches.

"What could you possibly from me? I have nothing to give."

Enjolras looks down at him, and then seems to realize that he's doing it. And that's the problem, he is always looking down at Grantaire. Whether metaphorically or literally, he is always looking down on him.

So he stops. Enjolras moves to sit next to Grantaire, on the come-stained ground, littered with trash and vomit and who knows what else.

Grantaire has to stop himself from physically looking away. He holds his ground.

"Why do you think I'm here?" Enjolras asks, and Grantaire shrugs his shoulders. It's cold, bitterly so, and the night is starting to take its toll on him.

"Courf called you because he was worried, and you have some misguided sense of responsibility." Grantaire stamps down on the spark of hope that just won't fucking die inside him, no matter how hard he tries to kill it.

He thought he'd succeeded, tonight, but one look from Enjolras is enough to rekindle it.

Enjolras scrubs his hands over his face and looks exhausted, though he has no right to. "Grantaire," he starts, and Grantaire goes cold. He doesn't want Enjolras to finish his sentence. Fear comes unbidden and deadens his limbs and he wants to beg Enjolras to stop talking, to please, _please_ shut the hell up but his limbs won't move. Because no matter how this sentence ends, it cannot be good for Grantaire.

If Enjolras tells Grantaire that he's right, that he's here out of loyalty, or worse, pity, Grantaire will accept it. He will let Enjolras help him up, lean on him heavily as he limps to his apartment, then shut the door on Enjolras forever.

But if he tells Grantaire something else, something that Grantaire won't even say out loud in his mind because the thought of it hurts too much, he doesn't know what he'll do.

Leave, certainly. Drink away the knowledge, kill it with a needle in his arm.

Because if Enjolras, if he- no, Grantaire can't say it, can't think it, and he shuts his eyes and tries to leave.

But Enjolras grabs his arm and holds him fast, and Grantaire is stuck.

"Please don't," he whispers, and Enjolras's face twists, and it's clear, it's so clear that Enjolras has no idea what he does to Grantaire.

He has no idea that Grantaire is half a person on a good day, and less than that on most days, but with Enjolras- Enjolras fills in the gaps in Grantaire, takes the darkness and burns it away with a light that's almost painful.

Grantaire never knew what it was like to be a whole human being, and Enjolras never knew what it was like to be anything less.

And as much as Grantaire wants to get away, Enjolras will not let him. He pulls Grantaire to him, one hands wrapped around his waist and the other placed firmly on the back of Grantaire's neck, fingers tangling themselves in Grantaire's hair.

Grantaire is frozen, and his eyes are open almost comically wide with shock.

"Grantaire," Enjolras says, but he can't get any other words out, he can't seem to say it and maybe that's okay because Grantaire doesn't want him to.

Instead he just says his name again, over and over again, "Grantaire, Grantaire, Grantaire, Grantaire," and it sounds like a mantra, and Grantaire has never believed in anything before, anything but Enjolras, and if Enjolras can believe in him, it is possible, but only just so, that maybe Grantaire can too someday.

With every repetition of his name, Grantaire relaxes bit by bit, sinking into Enjolras, twisting his own fingers into the soft fabric of Enjolras's coat.

Grantaire lets out a shuddering breath and just like that he's sobbing again, but Enjolras doesn't let go, just keeps saying his name, over and over again, "Grantaire, Grantaire, Grantaire, Grantaire."

When Grantaire is somewhat calmer, Enjolras loosens his hold to pull away, and Grantaire can't help it, he braces himself for a rejection, because when people pull away from Grantaire they never come back. It always happens, sooner or later, and it's instinct by now, to expect abandonment.

But Enjolras, Enjolras always surprises Grantaire and always has, and the hand on his neck moves to cup his cheek, and Grantaire can count each eyelash on Enjolras's face because they are so close.

He thinks about what happened that night, that not hours before, Grantaire was getting fucked into the wall by a man he had never seen before and will never see again.

_For drugs_ , his mind traitorously reminds him.

But Enjolras knows that, because Grantaire told him, because Grantaire never wants Enjolras to see him at anything but his worst, because if Enjolras can still look him in the eye after that, then maybe they will be okay.

And Enjolras is leaning in and for a moment Grantaire thinks he should pull away, because Enjolras's hands should not go where Grantaire has been defiled, but his mouth, his mouth was clean, because he hadn't taken in those fingers, had he? And he hadn't kissed the man, hadn't sucked bruises into his neck.

So when Enjolras presses his lips against Grantaire's, they are accepted willingly, even gratefully, and Grantaire's mouth opens underneath Enjolras's own.

The air is thick and stagnant for a moment and neither of them move, but then Grantaire breathes out and Enjolras breathes in and they surge forward at the same time, and it's almost painful the way their teeth clack against each other, but being near Enjolras has never been anything but and he won't give up that feeling now.

It's a blur after that, because Grantaire is exhausted, can barely move and Enjolras helps him up and takes him home, to Enjolras's apartment.

And the whole way there, there is not one moment that Enjolras lets go of Grantaire.

Whether it is his nose in his hair while they are walking (and Grantaire was right, the noises from Enjolras's throat are never anything but music) or a hand on his hip, keeping him solid and upright, he does not let go.

Enjolras sits Grantaire on the couch and disappears for a moment, and Grantaire sways, and feels as though he's about to faint. He is woozy, and not because of his feelings for Enjolras. He is woozy because he is still somewhat drunk, has still been fucked against a wall for drugs, and that does not go away.

Things are better, somewhat. Grantaire doesn't feel quite so ragged and raw in this moment, but he is not fixed, and he does not think he is fixable.

But then he hears the shower running and Enjolras comes back and takes him to the bathroom, stripping first himself, and then Grantaire, and helping him into the shower.

Enjolras cleans him up; he is methodical, but impossibly tender, and Grantaire just stands there and lets Enjolras work him over.

He does not have the strength to be aroused right now, but this is not supposed to be a sexual experience. Still, it does not stop Enjolras from pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses on the skin he cleans, and Grantaire lets out a soft sigh or a whimper every now and then, and if either of their cocks are stirred, they ignore it.

When the last of the conditioner runs clean from Grantaire's hair, Enjolras shuts off the water and wraps Grantaire in a towel.

Then he plugs the drain and turns on the bath, letting hot water fill his tub. Grantaire remains standing while Enjolras sits on the edge of the tub and watches the water rise. Steam fills the bathroom and Grantaire feels the tension ease from his body. He can breathe better now, his lungs are not quite so constricted. And he wants to cry again.

Because when Enjolras touches him, he can feel something akin to reverence in the pads of Enjolras's fingers, and when Enjolras looks at him, he can see something akin to love in his gaze.

It's still too much, and it might always be too much, but Enjolras at least seems to sense the fragility of the situation and doesn't comment on it, doesn't say the words that Grantaire needs but can't bear to hear.

Finally, Enjolras deems the bath ready and sinks into it, motioning for Grantaire to follow. He does, and settles in between Enjolras's legs, hard planes of Enjolras's chest pressed up against his back.

Grantaire closes his eyes and tips his head back, resting in the crook of Enjolras's shoulder, and just breathes, in and out, in and out, until he is dozing.

Still, he is not so far gone that he does not feel Enjolras's arms tighten around him, Enjolras's hand coming to wind into Grantaire's, thumb stroking nonsensical patterns into the back of Grantaire's hand.

Enjolras noses at Grantaire's jaw, pressing the occasional kiss to his forehead, or the skin behind Grantaire's ear, wherever he can reach.

Grantaire does nothing. He has done enough for one night. He just closes his eyes and lets himself take what Enjolras is giving. every so often he turns his head so that he and Enjolras can kiss again, lazy, wet kisses full of broad sweeps of tongue and only the barest hint of teeth. They don't do anything else that night.

When the water is colder than the air in the room, Enjolras makes them both get up, though they are boneless and tired and don't want to move, and lets the bathwater drain and takes them both to bed.

Enjolras doesn't miss the way that Grantaire curls in on himself when he lies down, but he does make sure to curl around him, to bracket him with his arms and make sure Grantaire knows that he is wanted.

In the morning, Enjolras wakes to a hesitant Grantaire, a Grantaire who clearly isn't sure if he's still welcome in Enjolras's bed, a Grantaire who is sick at himself with what he has done. Grantaire has never been ashamed of himself, not really, but with Enjolras so close to him, shame is all he can feel.

But then Enjolras starts to talk. And Grantaire listens, and miraculously, begins to respond. They talk, and they talk, and only leave the bed to make coffee and grab bagels from Enjolras's kitchen and occasionally use the bathroom. They talk for hours about everything, about things that leave Grantaire gasping for air and Enjolras shaking with fury at himself and the world. They speak huge confessions and dark secrets because if this is ever going to work, there can be nothing unsaid between them. At times, Enjolras thinks that Grantaire will shut down, will withdraw back into himself. But Grantaire is still there when they go to sleep at night, and he is still there when they wake up the morning after, and every time after that as well.

It is not perfect, and it takes a very long time for things to become okay again. Grantaire has withdrawals, Grantaire has relapses, and Enjolras must learn to stick by him through every one. He learns that one good day is worth all the bad ones, and that Grantaire is full of a secret strength that Enjolras didn't even know existed, but coaxes out of him anyway. Grantaire learns that he is no less than Enjolras, and that is the hardest lesson of all. It shouldn't work, it never should have worked, but it does. Enjolras becomes a comfort instead of a prison, and above all, he becomes _human_ to Grantaire. Funnily enough, Enjolras starts to view Grantaire as some kind of god himself: resilient and powerful, incandescent in his own way.

Finally, Grantaire is able to hear "I love you" from Enjolras without flinching away, and instead smiles brilliantly, and feels whole.

**Author's Note:**

> Send comments/questions/concerns/and maybe even prompts over to grantairer.tumblr.com xoxo seriously, come talk to me, I love to hear from you :)


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